


The Graduation Party

by Shadow_Belle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, liquid courage!Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Belle/pseuds/Shadow_Belle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you call me Pansy one more time, just once more, I swear to bloody Merlin that I’m going to…” Then it looked as if a light had gone on her head, a very large and obvious switch had been flipped. “Alright, Potter. You’ve got me.” She hiccupped again. “I am Pansy. So now, since I’ve admitted what a bad girl I am, you’re going to punish me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Graduation Party

Hermione was hammered. Lit up like a Christmas Tree, nose glowing like Rudolph all ruddy and bright. She was what the blokes would call pissed.

Who woulda’ thunk (Is thunk a proper word, Hermione wondered silently as the voice in her head continued narrating her existence.) that Miss Perfect Prefect Granger would down an entire bottle of FireWhiskey all on her lonesome? The twins, that’s who. In fact, they’d supplied the stuff. See, they understood that after seven years of trying to help Harry and Ron maintain their marks, well…. She deserved that liquid tribute. They said in not by any means dulcet tones, that they were both surprised that she hadn’t taken to drinking her lunch way before now.

She opened her mouth to say something that sounded witty in her own head, though no doubt it would have come out all garbled and would have made no sense at all, except maybe to Luna who seemed to understand these things. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, too bad it really wasn’t. Then it might have caught the decidedly mannish and demonic burp that issued forth from her mouth like some unholy horn bellowing a call to war.

And damn if it wasn’t the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Hermione promptly doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter.

“Cor, this is what happens. No bloody fun at all and then something just snaps. Moderation, I tell you.” Ron gave her a thoroughly disgusted look and rather than even try to appear ashamed or chastised, Hermione laughed harder.

She laughed so hard that when she tried to breathe, she snorted in great gulps of air. Which was even more hysterical, at least to her.

When she finally managed to breathe, she said between snorts, “Moderation, my arse.” Then she paused to look puzzled. “Ever notice that when you say ‘arse’ that you sort of hiss? I wonder if it’s parseltongue? Harry? Where’s Harry, he could tell me.” She hissed the “parsel” part as well, sounded a bit like she’d lost her front teeth. Though, if anyone looked closely at Hermione’s teeth, they all knew there was no chance of that. And no, not because they are big, well, yes because they are big, but also because her parents were dentists and her tooth grooming was always up to date.

Hermione struggled to get up. Then fell right proper on the aforementioned bum next to Seamus who was already passed out.

“Hermione. You’re drunk.” Ron sounded very maiden aunt.

“Shove it, you tosser.” She cackled again.

Ron was properly mortified. Of course he’d seen loads of birds nipped out on the Fire Whiskey, but never Hermione. Never that archetype of behavior and manners… It was seriously fucking with his Chi.

Had she just called him a tosser? Bloody Hell.

“Uh, Harry?” Ron bellowed, with his voice cracking a bit on the end syllable.

Harry tripped over a sprawled Lavender as he was making his way to where Ron was caterwauling for him. He made a mental note to apologize to her tomorrow. That was bound to leave a mark.

“What?”

Ron pointed at Hermione.

“Yeah. And?”

“She’s lit, mate. Like a firecracker. Look at her nose!”

Hermione waggled her nose in an exaggerated fashion, her eyes crossing trying to get a decent perspective. “Just what is wrong with my nose, you redheaded prat?”

“See? She called me a tosser and now a prat.”

“She’s no more pissed than any of the rest of us.” Harry shrugged.

Hermione grabbed his leg. “I wanted to ask you something.” Then she rested her head on his shoe.

“Yes?” Harry thought about shaking her off, but quelled the urge. She’d probably hit her head on the floor, but he wanted, no needed, to sit down. His face was a tad warm and his vision a little fuzzy.

“Uh, I forgot. Ron, what did I want to ask him?”

“To snog you stupid, probably.” Ha, teach her to call him a tosser.

And to their most immediate surprise, Hermione smiled. “That’s right. That’s it.” She looked up at Harry expectantly.

Harry was sure that she couldn’t mean that. She had to be drunk. Well, she was drunk. That was it. Or she’d just remembered what she wanted to ask and hadn’t heard Ron at all. Which was likely.

“Well, you can’t do it from up there, you dim sod.” Hermione giggled and began using his trousers to help her claw her way up from the floor, though she got stuck directly at eye level with something else that didn’t quite speak parseltongue, though it could have been called a snake.

Harry looked down at her and realized that she was on her knees. On her bloody knees with her mouth right next to his… Merlin’s Rusty Nipple Ring! She was grinning and resting her cheek against…

Hermione was his friend. He couldn’t…

She was nuzzling.

Right then, he wanted to be anywhere other than there. Maybe feeding Voldemort bangers and mash through a straw, even that would be preferable. Though, there, it was exactly what he’d been dreaming of for years. Not that she would be drunk of course, but that she would… Oh Hell.

She wasn’t just nuzzling. Her hands were on his belt.

“Blimey, Harry. She’s going to,”

“I know what she’s going to...” Harry growled and grabbed Hermione hard around her upper arm.

“Oh, he wants it rough.” Hermione said to no one in particular and continued to giggle like a raving fool, though she allowed him to haul her to her feet. “Take me to your room, hero?”

She looked up at him with such guile, her lips so swollen, as if she’d already been kissed, her eyes half-lidded.

“Pansy, is that you? Have you Polyjuiced Hermione?” He growled in her ear.

“What would you do if it was?”

“Give you the fucking that you’re asking for.” Harry said harshly, crudely. In hopes that if it really was Hermione, that it would shock her out of whatever the hell they had blundered into.

“Potter says fuck?” she hiccupped and leaned into his shoulder for support, her lips very close to the pulse in his throat, her breath hot on his already heated skin.

Ron had been backing away slowly, unable to deal with this Hermione. He had every confidence that Harry could handle it. Well, in any event, better Harry than him. Of course, it was the twins’ fault. They should handle her.

Somehow, Ron didn’t like the thought of that either, his brothers “handling” Hermione. So he chose a hasty exit, stage left. Right. Whatever. The bloody hell out of there.

“What are you doing, Mione?” Harry knew very well what she was doing, but he wondered if she did.

“That Fire Whiskey was yummy. I liked the champagne bubbles better though. They were pretty.”

She was talking about pretty bubbles with her lips that close to him? With her breasts pressed up against his arm as if she draped herself over him all the time? Harry could feel the hard nubs of her nipples taut through her tee shirt rubbing on his forearm. He shifted experimentally and she sighed, snuggling closer, completely abandoning all pretext at standing on her own. He had to find the Universe Normal, or as close to normal as he was ever allowed to come.

Come, he winced as he even thought the word.

Merlin. Damn. It.

“If you don’t want her…” Blaise (why the hell was he at a Gryffindor Grad party?) said as he opened his arms waiting to accept Hermione as he had been intently watching the whole display. Harry kept waiting for him to twirl the ends of a black mustache like a villain from one of those pre-talky cinemas.

She managed to stand up then and waggled a finger at him. “I don’t think so. You,” she wobbled a bit. “Are a bad boy.” Hermione nodded her head as if that was the revelation of the century.

“Yes. And I need to be punished.” Blaise replied in all seriousness.

“Maybe you can tell Harry how to be a baddy-naughty boy? I’m trying to get him to take advantage of me and he just won’t.” She pouted and fell against Harry again, damn near knocking him over.

“You should shag her, Potter. She’s been cow-eyed for you since first year.” Blaise said, but added as he was walking away, “I know I would.”

Harry thought about hitting him, was still contemplating it in fact when Hermione’s fingers fluttered across his jaw.

“Are you going to defend my honor?” She giggled like a little girl and Harry realized that the sound was dear to him, her laughter.

“Why is he here anyway?”

“I invited him.”

Harry started at that and stood straight up, which practically knocked Hermione to the floor. She managed to catch herself on a nearby couch.

“Why in the hell would you do something like that?”

“Because,” she paused. Then she laughed again. “I don’t know.”

“We need to get you to bed.” Harry said staunchly.

“Mm-Hmm. That we do. Yours or mine?”

“Hermione. Stop that. Someone might take you seriously.” He put his arm around her waist and hauled her to her feet again.

She turned so that he body was pressed against his.

Merlin, she couldn’t know what she was doing, could she? Harry almost bit through his lip feeling her body heat against him and her form so pliable and soft…

“I want somebody to take me seriously. Or seriously take me…” she smirked in a very Slytherin way.

“Pansy, this is not funny.”

“If you call me Pansy one more time, just once more, I swear to bloody Merlin that I’m going to…” Then it looked as if a light had gone on her head, a very large and obvious switch had been flipped. “Alright, Potter. You’ve got me.” She hiccupped again. “I am Pansy. So now, since I’ve admitted what a bad girl I am, you’re going to punish me?”

“Yes.”

For all of his smarts, Harry Potter could be a dim prat when he took it into his head to do so.

Hermione wasn’t even really drunk. She would never sacrifice that amount of control. She was just having a good time turning about all of Ron’s and Harry’s headaches back on them. And she wanted to get Harry in the sack. Call it a graduation present to herself. After all, she was a virgin and she didn’t want to leave school in such a state. School was supposed to be an institute of learning and she’d learned all that she could but for this last bit, carnal knowledge. She snickered to herself.

Hermione knew that Harry would never want to damage their friendship and she didn’t either. She wanted so much more from him. If the morning light made it uncomfortable, there was always the very pitiful but useful, “we were drunk” excuse.

She was irked in the extreme to have to go to such pretext, but really, that was the only way for Harry to let his guard down. He hadn’t been the only one who’d begged the Sorting Hat to put them in Gryffindor. But she’d waited years for this and she was going to have this, one way. Or another.

And apparently, it was going to be another. She was pretending to be drunk, now pretending to be Pansy pretending to be… Oh god, she was getting a headache. Maybe she had had a bit too much champagne.

Still. This was going to happen.

“So, what was it you said? That you are going to give me the fucking I deserve?”

He colored. “C’mon, Pansy. I told you it wasn’t going to happen. I love Hermione.”

She almost choked. Really? “You know, you should tell her.”

“No, I can’t lose her friendship. I really don’t know where I would be without her.”

“What if she feels the same?”

Harry seemed to contemplate this. “No, I’m sure she doesn’t.”

“What if she was worried about losing your friendship too?”

“You are being awfully nice about this. What’s the angle, Pans?”

Pans? He called her Pans? How close was the Golden Boy to the Slut of Slytherin? Hermione almost visibly hung her head at the direction of her thoughts. That was very uncharitable of her. Hateful, even.

“No angle. Just want to get laid.” Oh hell, had she said that? Pretending to be Pansy might have its rewards after all.

“Stop saying that. You are going to ruin Hermione’s reputation. She’s worked very hard for what she has, stop cocking it up.”

How far would he go?

“Only if you take me back to your room.”

“Fine.”

Fine? That was easy. Hermione wasn’t sure if she should be pleased that he was willing to shag Pansy for her, or heartbroken that it hadn’t taken much… Hmm. A conundrum if there ever was one.   
Now, if they had sex, she would never know if she could trust him when before, there had never been a question. If he professed to love her so much then…

Speaking of thens, because right then, Pansy sauntered through the Common Room looking for Blaise.

Harry’s eyes shot to hers and she did actually feel a bit sheepish. He looked back to Pansy. Hermione again.

“You aren’t Pansy…”

“I kept trying to tell you.” She shrugged and stood up straight.

“And you aren’t really drunk,” he stated.

“Nope.” She pursed her lips, waiting for his reaction.

Harry seemed frozen to the spot. Almost like if he was still enough, quiet enough, he would blend in to his surroundings and she would move on to larger prey. After all, he’d just dropped the “L” bomb.

“I can see that you’re still processing. But you know, neither one of us have been very Gryffindor about this at all.”

Still nothing.

“Merlin, Buddha and Joseph! I was hoping to avoid the whole talking it to death scenario that always seems to plague my relationships, and really, every other aspect of my life, but I guess not. No wonder I’m still a virgin.” She sighed.

Harry paled further.

“I can still see you. You don’t have your invisibility cloak on. C’mon.” She grabbed his arm and he followed behind her docilely.

“Uh, Hermione?” he ventured when they got to his room.

“Yes, Harry?” Good. Speaking was good. She didn’t want to frighten him off so she spoke softly like she would to a small and nervous puppy.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean… What does that mean for us?”

“So, I know the girl is supposed to be the one who wants to have this conversation, but must we? Right now? It’s our last night at Hogwarts and I love you. And you obviously love me, so can we cut the shite and make it a night to remember?”

Then, Harry smiled. “Yeah. We can do that.”

He pressed her up against the door, their mouths close and breath mingling. Harry slid the key in the lock and as he did, he kissed her.

It was new, but it wasn’t. It was unexpected, but it wasn’t. It was an ending and a beginning. It was Fate.

So many times, his hand had brushed hers, those arms had held her in her grief and she had held him in his. He’d slept curled next to her heart after Sirius died and that moment, she’d realized that if the stars fell from the sky and the sun were to turn her face from the world that she would never ask for more than Harry James Potter.

Now those hands were touching her as she’d dreamed they would as she lay on his bed with her hair fanned out behind her, she was sliding his shirt from his shoulders.

She knew his body, she knew his touch. She knew his breath was always sweet and he would taste of chocolate.

And indeed he did, when their lips collided, both demanding and giving.

Then, when Hermione was bare, stripped of her garments, her pride, everything, she knew a moment of fear. Harry was poised at her entrance, ready to take that which she could never give again.

She knew it would hurt, but she wanted him inside of her, wanted to join with him completely.

He knew, had sensed her hesitation.

Harry paused then, his hands on her face, his hips settled between her thighs. “It’s not too late, Hermione. We can stop.” His breathing was ragged and his hands were shaking.

“No, we can’t.” She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him down to kiss her again and arched her hips up to meet him.

There was only a slight discomfort as he entered her. She supposed then it was true what they said about witches that rode astride on brooms…

She cried out as the discomfort was replaced with a new sensation. Desire had been molten lava in her veins and now it was all centered one thing, Harry driving at the very core of her.

Then, her visions of Harry fled. “Hermione!” A voice startled her out of her daydream, and she realized that she was holding an unopened bottle of Fire Whiskey.   
“Well, are you going to try it or not?” Ron asked her, waiting impatiently to snatch the bottle back from her.

“You know what,” she grinned. “I think I just might.” Hermione had a plan that just might work after all, if her impromptu vision had been any indication.

She took a long pull off of the bottle and smiled at Ron again, and knowing what was good for him, he back away slowly, sensing mischief was afoot.

And Hermione went in search of Harry Potter, bottle boldly in hand.


End file.
